Exit
by ToGoAndLetGo
Summary: Sometimes you just need an exit. Somewhere in Season III. Please review. First fic. New chapter.
1. Chapter 1

For the first time ever, he'd proven someone else to be right. He'd been warned. He'd been told he'd OD at some point in his life on the Vicodin he threw back like candy. But none of them had predicted it would be intentional. Except for maybe Wilson. Wilson would likely suspect it was not an accidental overdose as he read the coroner's report. He'd read the words cause of death in his cautious way and scan over the mixture of alcohol and Hydrocodone. He'd read it several times before finally realizing that he'd read it correctly.

The following reactions were House's own prediction, as he mused lying on the couch with the third of the three bottles he took down to beat the tolerance his body had built up, still in his hand. He probably only needed two, but the third was for good measure. He knew exactly how each person would respond. His mother would cry, and that he regretted. He never wanted to hurt her; she'd always been good to him. She was the best mom a guy could ask for. His dad would call him weak. There was no surprise or remorse there. Wilson would be angry and then he'd probably cry and mourn in accordance to the best friend code of conduct. And he would blame himself. But it wasn't Wilson's fault and some day he would figure that out. Cuddy would also blame herself. If she'd been a better friend maybe… but ultimately her grief would give her no solace.

Then there were the ducklings. Cameron would fall to pieces. She'd still cry about the fact that she was not able to love him enough. But she'd move on. She'd take all she learned about the way he behaved and turn it into a private mourning away from everyone. She wouldn't cry in front of everyone, and if she did, it would be a few tears and nothing more. The sad thing was, Cameron almost made him want to be a better person. But it wasn't enough. She gave up on him quickly, and maybe in hindsight, he shouldn't have pushed her away. Live and l—never mind.

Chase would hug someone. Probably Cameron, more likely Cuddy. He'd cry and become emotional. That he also regretted. Chase had always been his favorite of the ducklings. He never told him that and almost wished now that he had. Maybe then Chase would feel a little better about the razzing that was constantly dished, and had no resolution after House died. But again, he didn't. He never told Chase that he was a good doctor, or that he was worth the fellowship, or that when he was at Chase's stage professionally he screwed up too. He never said those things. Now Chase would never hear them.

Foreman would handle it the best of all. He'd mourn probably. It'd upset him sure. But there would be no public display or any real emotion. He'd take it in stride and handle it with a stoic nonchalance. He never seemed to care one way or another about House. After he was shot, Foreman was the only one that didn't constantly check to make sure he was okay. And Foreman would maybe mourn him privately but House had no way of knowing. He didn't really care either. He'd always respected Foreman's stoic approach.

He closed his eyes, not really by choice; they fell closed without any effort from him. For the first time since his infarction he felt no pain. No pain at all. His breathing was labored. His head was swimming and incoherent but his leg didn't even so much as carry a dull ache. At least in death he'd feel no pain. For no other reason than the simplest explanation; there is no pain once the heart stops.

The first sense that came back was his sense of hearing. The familiar beep of his heart rate being monitored filled his ears before he even opened his eyes. Two things could be the outcome of his awakening. He'd died and hell was a hospital. Or he wasn't dead at all. Someone had had the nerve to come and save him. Saving was not something he was worth. He had two culprits in mind. It was either Wilson, or Cameron and he bet money on one of them waiting by his side for him to wake up.

"So… which one of you is it? Oncologist or duckling?" He said before opening his eyes.

The rustling of what clothes against one of the poorly covered chairs signaled someone was waiting for him to wake up, probably sleeping themselves. No one took his hand so he assumed it was Wilson. He sighed and finally opened his eyes and turned to face his visitor. Sure enough, the tired brown eyes of James Wilson stared back at him. Relief, anger, sorrow they were all there.

"You're an ass." Was all the Oncologist could choke out without tears.

"Yeah. I know." House replied.

"Killing yourself? Was that your plan? Did you OD on purpose?" Wilson asked, even though he was sure he knew the answer.

House was silent. He didn't have to answer the question.

"You aren't going to say anything? You're just going to sit there and mope! Why? Because you failed? Because I saved your life and now you're mad at me? Well fuck you." Wilson was now crying.

"Wilson…" Was all House could manage.

"I wasn't a good enough friend to you. I should have noticed the cries for help instead of just dosing you and thinking that would be good enough. I should have helped you and listened to you and not just assumed you were just being House…" He sighed. "I'm sorry."

House laughed. "This has nothing to do with you."

Wilson's pager broke the silence. He looked at it and then got out of the chair, slipping his lab coat back on and straightening his tie. He threw one more look at House who still wasn't looking at him. He just stared off into nothing. Finally, Wilson made a comment.

"Your just lucky your liver didn't shut down." He stormed out of the room.

House sat there, alone. He stared at the readings from the monitor then checked the IVs before sitting up and going to grab his chart. Before he did he stopped. He thought about it before leaning back. House realized he didn't care about his condition or his care. He didn't care about anything.


	2. Cuddy

She had seen him go through more ups and downs in the time she'd known him than she most people go through in a lifetime. He seemed prone to hurt, pain and misery. As if cosmically some higher force decided on the day the Gregory House was born that his life would be nothing but a giant obstacle.

When he had his infarction, she'd been his attending physician. There wasn't a day that went by when she watched him limp passed her office or pop a pill, that she didn't feel the tug of guilt in her stomach. What if he'd been right? What if she'd listened to his wished and ignored Stacy? Would he be better off? The only thing she'd ever used to get her through were simple words that she knew could be wrong; you saved his life.

She'd been there when Stacy walked out on him. She'd watch him shut down what small piece of his heart cared for other people, could love other people. Even without hearing the words, she knew very well that House had a heart and that Stacy had broken it. He'd been very fragile before her. He was destroyed by her. But of course Stacy had no way of really knowing that. No one did. Not until the aftermath, drowning himself in Vicodin and diagnostic puzzles.

And when he'd been shot she'd sat by his bedside for days to ensure no complications from the ketamine. She had no way of knowing if he knew she was there but it brought her comfort. When he relapsed later, whatever the reason, she knew it had hit hard. It was a blow that she knew he might not recover from. She had her answer with his battle against Detective Tritter and the fake cancer. But it never occurred to her that the day would come when Gregory House would give up hope.

And as she watched Wilson and House through the glass walls come to a head, she ran it through her mind. She never saw this coming. Lisa Cuddy had never expected House to try and kill himself. She never thought he'd hit rock bottom. Mostly because she didn't want to.

"Well he did it to himself just as we thought. No apology, no regret, no nothing. Oh one regret. His failure to succeed. I guess that's just one more thing for him to be miserable about." Wilson startled her as he came from House's room; a mix of hurt, anger and frustration coated his tone. "I have a patient."

She watched him go down the hall. Lisa looked back into the room, and not once in the entire time she'd been standing there had House noticed her. He didn't look over now. She watched him slump backwards and the body language alone ripped at her heart. She took a deep breath and walked into the room.

"Round two." House responded to the click of her heels, he didn't look up.

"House…" She started.

"What? Are you going to do the same lecture as Wilson? Because I really have better things to do." He snapped.

"Like what?" She responded.

He looked at her, quiet for the first time in all the time she knew him. Finally he managed to mutter his usual response. "Nice."

She took his hand. He pulled back at first but she took it again. He gave her a look, almost pleading not to touch him. She didn't listen. She met his gaze and he looked away. That's when she knew he'd really given up. He didn't even fight her.

"I just want to help. You don't have to give me any answers. You don't have to give me any reasons or explanations. You don't have to say anything. But if you want to, I'm here. And I always have been. I'm sorry that I didn't let you know that sooner." She said, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes.

He rolled his. "Is this going to be a one by one thing? Who's next? Chase? Is he going to come hug me and say" he mocked an accent. "I'm sorry you're suicidal. I'm going to hug you."

"House… that's not what we're doing." She reasoned.

"And then Foreman. I think you're a manipulative bastard but don't kill yourself."

"House…"

"Finally Cameron will come in and she'll cry and tell me she's sorry and say that she still likes me and that I have reasons to live and she'll have a little bunny and paint rainbows on the walls…"

"HOUSE!" She cut him off and he was quiet.

They sat in silence for a minute. She sighed after she couldn't take it anymore, getting to her feet and walking toward the door. She stopped when she reached it, putting her hand on the frame and turning back to look at him.

"The walls are glass." She commented before leaving.

Lisa didn't see the smirk, but she knew it was there. She'd gotten through a little. Sometimes the small victories felt just as good as the big ones.


	3. Wilson

Carly got that chateau she liked so much in Montreal from Jax. He thinks it should become a hotel, as they head on a private jet toward the Canadian city. The drivel on about their ridiculous little lives and for the first time since he first turned on the show, House couldn't care less. He heard the door open and looked to see Wilson returning to his room. He turned back to the television.

Wilson was a little less angry now. He just had that trademark look of caring etched across his features. He took a seat beside the bed, not wanting to interrupt the television program, knowing it would make House angry. To his surprise House flicked off the TV with the remote and sighed.

"I remember when that show was about a hospital. Now it's just like every other soap opera. I think I'll switch to All My Children. At least Susan Lucci aged well." He said.

"Yeah, too bad compared to you she'd be a midget." Wilson mused.

He smirked. "Compared to anyone she's a midget."

They were silent together for a minute. House staring blankly at the remote on his lap and Wilson staring at him, but trying not to, occasionally letting his gaze lose focus so there was nothing but a blurry cloud in front of him. His brain muddled over the million things he could say. He could tell him he has things to live for, or that he'll be missed if he died. But one question Wilson had neglected to ask himself was: Why? Why would he say those things and would they be true? Why would House be missed? These questions only came to him because he knew House would ask. The only real question was whether or not he had the answers.

"So are you…" Wilson stopped. He wasn't sure where the question was going.

"Am I… suicidal? Am I cerifiably insane? Am I depressed? Am I in need of a shoulder to cry on? Am I gay?" House's sarcasm was like venom.

"Are you okay?" Wilson strangled out.

"Peachy."

Wilson couldn't help the laugh. It was his annoyed laugh, the one that came out when he couldn't react in any other way to House's behavior. It was a laugh that he knew would probably hurt House, just like he knew it had when he'd used that as a finally tactic after House had faked cancer. It was that point where reasoning and talking and obviously caring didn't work. Now he just had to be harsh.

"You need to get help, Greg." He finally said.

House said nothing, he was getting ready to whip out his acid tongue with some biting quip at Wilson. But this time, James Wilson was faster.

"I don't care how you get help. You can see a therapist, or check yourself in, or I can help you, Cuddy can help you… it doesn't matter. But you need to deal with your shit so that you don't do this again. I don't think anyone will care if you do, next time."

House laughed. "You will always care Wilson. It's your fatal flaw."

"Being an asshole is yours." Wilson sighed. "Just… you don't have to tell me why. But promise you won't again. You say everybody lies, well if you can't mean it then lie to me."

House said nothing. Wilson was impressed. This was the quietest he'd ever gotten House. Except when he was asleep.


End file.
